Proximity
by Silver Kitten
Summary: Tag for The Benders. Dean and Sam get deeper into the woods, and not by choice. Dean thought Sam was safe with him, but it was more of a hope than a fact. Reviews appreciated.
1. Chapter 1

**Proximity**

Disclaimer: I've decided I'm going to use all my creative "genius" for this story instead of the disclaimer. So, no, I don't own anything from Supernatural.

Summary: Tag for The Benders. Dean and Sam get deeper into the woods, and not by choice. Dean thought Sam was safe with him, but it was more of a hope than a fact.

Warnings: Rated for language. No slash, just brotherly love with a twist of angst…okay, more than a twist, maybe…

Author's Note: So, this idea literally hit me, physically attacked my brain…and it wouldn't leave me alone until I wrote it. I loved "The Benders" episode, and this is my take on what happened on the walk, and although you'll _swear_ I'm lying…I promise I love these two guys and would never purposefully do anything to hurt either of them…with that said, I'm a partial liar. I love them…as much as I love to hurt them. I don't think anyone will expect the ending…Intrigued yet? Reviews- constructive and otherwise, are definitely appreciated.

* * *

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

"**_Looks like we're gonna have a hunt tonight, after all, boys. And you get to pick the animal. The boy or the cop,"_**

"_**Okay, wait, wait, wait—look, nobody's coming for me, all right? It's just us,"**_

"_**You don't choose, I will…"**_

Sam watched nervously, quietly, as his brother gripped his left shoulder again. They'd been walking for twenty minutes now, the damp cold settling in around them, the previous terror taking its toll on their tired, aching bodies. And it wasn't anything they weren't used to, especially after the hand-to-hand combat. The pain, they could deal with. Watching their brother obviously struggling with the pain…that was a different story.

"Man, are you sure you're okay? You seem distracted by that arm of yours,"

"I'm fine," Dean sighed, trying not to hiss from the ceaseless burning sensation in his upper shoulder.

"Want me to take a look at it?" Sam asserted, extending his hand towards his brother. Dean was quick to avert from the sudden hold.

"No," he spat, forcing himself to let go of his arm and avoid further suspicion. The last thing he wanted was for Sam to see how hurt he was.

The truth was, he wished Sam could see, could understand the hurt he was feeling…and that it wasn't so much the scorching burn on his shoulder that was causing him pain, but the agony of knowing he almost sentenced his brother to immediate death.

"_**Oh! Oh, you son of a bitch!"**_

"_**Next time, I'll take an eye…"**_

**_Then he was forced to stare into the flaming hot poker, its treacherous orange glow sparking a memory of another time fire's heat was at his neck, chasing him…but he remembered another thing from that night…he saved his brother, saved Sam…he did it then, he'd do it again. And if he had to choose so he could buy some time, then he would choose to have faith in his brother…_**

"_**All right, the guy, the guy! Take the guy!"**_

"Dean!"

Dean was snapped away from his silent torture, his thoughts unable to escape the unimaginable fear he was faced with less than an hour ago.

"What?"

"That's like…the fourth time you've spaced off. What's on your mind?"

"Nothing," _Just guilt for almost getting you killed…_

"Liar,"

"Bitch,"

"Come on, I tell you when something's bothering me, don't I?" Sam questioned with pitiful authority in his voice that almost made his brother laugh.

"Yeah, after I force it out of you," Dean answered, unconsciously holding his left arm again.

"Okay, so I need to force this out of you?"

"What are you gonna do, Sammy? Tickle me until I talk?"

Sam withheld the urge to smack his brother, or punch, or shove…only because Dean was hurting more than he let on, and Sam needed to feign composure if he ever suspected to get an honest answer from his brother. And Sam was determined to get Dean to open up to him.

"Ya know, I wonder if you even missed me at all," Sam said, purposefully keeping any emotion out of the words. This caught Dean's attention.

"Are you freaking serious, dude?"

"You tell me,"

"Oh, don't you even…Whatever you're trying to do, it won't work," Dean did his best to share a dirty look with his brother, pretty much failing when he saw the widened, glistening puppy-dog eyes staring him down and the sight cut right into his chest. Dean physically cringed. "Stop looking at me like that!"

"You never said you missed me,"

"Well, I'm telling you now!" Dean spoke melodramatically, keeping his mouth slightly agape with surprise that Sam had the audacity to incite such a conversation.

"Telling me _what_, exactly?" Sam knew he was pushing his brother to the edge.

"I missed you, okay? I missed you!" Dean said, sounding angry but not really showing it. "What more do you want from me, piss ant?"

"I want you to tell me what's going on, what's bugging you?"

"_You_ are,"

"Dean," Sam stopped, causing Dean to instinctively do the same. "Quit being a two year old. What did they do to you?"

Sam asked the question Dean feared the most. It wasn't anything they did to him, but what they talked about doing to Sam…and how could Dean explain that to him without sounding so vulnerable? After all Sam had been through, Dean knew that he needed to be strong, unaffected…like always, so he could make Sam feel safe. The hurt couldn't show, and so he couldn't answer…

"Let it go, Sam," Dean said dryly, taking a step forward and anticipating Sam to follow. When Sam stood in his place without so much as a glance upward, Dean knew he wasn't getting out of this situation so easily.

"It's bad, isn't it?"

"What?"

"For you not to tell me what happened before I rescued you,"—

"Hey," Dean scoffed, "You didn't rescue me. I was handling the situation and you just happened to walk in at the same time,"

"And I repeat: before I _rescued_ you, they did something to you…something bad. It was so bad, that now you won't tell me…" Sam finished his statement while staring at his brother, willing him to talk. Dean clenched his fists. He'd let Sam win at games when they were younger, because that's what cool big brothers do…but they were older now, and Dean was as determined not to let Sam win as Sam was determined not to lose.

"You want a cookie or something? So big deal, something _bad_ happened," Dean widened his eyes and put his hands up in mock surrender, immediately wishing he hadn't when the pain shot down his left side. "Leave it to the All-Knowing Wonder to figure that out,"

"Tell me, please?"

And there it was…that word, that one word Sam could say that broke all barriers. It wasn't the word itself, just the way Sam said it…and Dean was helpless, but still not going down without a fight.

"Uh, 'please'? Quit being a two year old,"

"Fine, you win," Sam threw his hands up in the air in defeat. He then walked forward, passing Dean, and kept going. It was Dean's turn to stand still, feeling guilty, like an ass, and completely unforgivable at this point.

"Sam," Dean said, but Sam didn't turn around. To see his brother walking away from him, not turning around to answer his call had Dean feeling a sadness he'd never get accustomed to. He hated when Sam walked away; absolutely hated it. "Sam!" He said louder, more firmly.

And Sam continued to walk. For whatever reason, Dean couldn't put one foot in front of the other, couldn't catch up with Sam now no matter how hard he tried…the worst part was knowing he pushed Sam that far away, kept Sam that far away...

"_**All right, the guy, the guy! Take the guy!"**_

_**Dean's heart was racing.**_

"_**Lee, go do it. Don't let him out, though. Shoot him in the cage,"**_

_**Dean's heart stopped.**_

"**_What? I thought you said you were gonna hunt him, you were gonna give him a chance?"_**

_**And Dean heard the family talking, and he believed once or twice he spoke up in rage, threatened them violently, but none of it really mattered. Words meant nothing, vengeance meant nothing, and time wound so tightly around him that it snapped and began to unravel like a hurricane of razor blades. A single thought barred him in a prison of his worst fear as he heard the first gunshot ring out in the suffocating silence…**_

_**He murdered his brother—killed Sam…**_

Like a fire blazing in his shoulder, Dean felt the burn again, ripping through him. He clutched his arm and fell to his knees in the muddy earth below, grappling against the pain to stay awake. He gritted his teeth and growled in agony. Before he could blink, Sam had rushed to his side.

Sam took the moment of his brother's brief downfall and used it to his advantage. He carefully peeled back the layer of Dean's jacket, gently pulled down the shirt and saw the excruciating sight of the reddened mark silently attacking his brother. Dean didn't fight against Sam, mostly because he couldn't-for the pain was overtaking him, but also because he didn't want to hide it anymore.

"Christ," Sam whispered; his voice lost somewhere dark, imagining what his brother might be going through.

Once Dean saw the horrid awareness of pain in Sam's eyes, he pulled away from his brother's inspection. He let go of his shoulder a moment to push Sam back.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Sam demanded, glaring sympathetically at Dean, who rolled his eyes.

"Don't be mad, Sammy. All the cool kids were doing it, and I just wanted to fit in," Dean pouted mockingly, and then a new spring of pain bounced all the way to his head. For a second, Sam didn't feel sorry for him—just a second.

"No one finds you amusing, Dean,"

"Aw, you do, don't you?"

"Do I look amused?" Sam narrowed his eyes as Dean studied him. He seemed to take a moment to consider his answer.

"Well, you are kind of funny lookin', but I was gonna say anything,"

Sam made a motion towards Dean as if he would have hit him, but pulled himself away and stood up, pacing in front of Dean who was still on his knees. Dean thought he heard Sam mutter something about 'being adopted' but he brushed it off.

"I hope it hurts, I _really_ hope it hurts…" Sam lied, the whole mean vibe not very effective for him, especially when it came to his brother, particularly his brother when he was in pain. "I hope it hurts as much as _you_—the _pain in my ass_—hurts,"

Dean let out a sigh he'd been holding in and looked up at his anxious brother.

"This is why I didn't want you to know. I knew you'd freak out,"

"No, you didn't want to tell me because you're an _idiot_ who thinks he's indestructible!"

_You once thought that way, Sammy…_

"Whatever. Now you know," Dean was forcing his voice to stay level, to keep calm and not verbally attack his brother like he felt inclined to do…with all the best intention, of course.

"So this isn't serious to you? This is some kind of a joke, a chance for you to show of your 'amazing' comic relief skills?"

Dean pursed his lips together while in thought and then nodded casually.

"Yeah, pretty much,"

Sam didn't respond right away. Instead, he stopped pacing, looked directly into Dean's eyes and a notion struck him finally.

"Oh," Sam gave a small laugh and tilted his head slightly. "You know what I think? I think that the more of a jerk you are, the more pain you're in. I think the more you try and force a cheap laugh out of this situation is the more you hurt,"

"And I think that's bull,"

"Yeah, you would…because it's true,"

Dean shook his head and did his best to stand up on his own. Even though they were in the midst of an argument, Dean still noticed Sam move in to a closer distance, should Dean lose balance again. Neither of them said a word of the action, just understood it.

"Fine. It hurts, it really hurts…more than you know," Dean said earnestly, not really thinking about his shoulder…just his guilt. Sam's expression softened and he sighed with sad victory.

"Is there anything I can do to help?"

"Not unless you've recently developed the power to turn back time,"

"All right, well I can go flag down a car,"—

"No," Dean huffed defiantly. "No need, we'll just keep walking till we get back to the station, I'll be fine. Then we'll just clean and bandage it up when we get to the motel,"

"Are you sure?"

"Sam,"

"What?"

"Don't ask me if I'm sure. Ever. Again."

-:-

For the next few minutes, they continued to walk, fighting against the chill of the wind. Sam did his best not to hover over his brother, just taking quick glances to make sure he was still okay, and Dean allowed him without barking at him to stop simply because he didn't want to argue anymore.

"Hey, Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"I, um…back when I…"

"Spit it out before I kick it out,"

"Well, I know that…we don't really…all the time…"

Dean looked over to his brother, falling over his words, and raised an eyebrow. "I didn't even go to college and I _know_ that wasn't a complete thought,"

"This isn't easy for me…and you're making it more difficult," Sam was visibly distraught, though Dean couldn't grasp why. After taking a few seconds to mull over his thoughts, Sam finally gave up. "Ugh, never mind,"

"No, come on, tell me," Dean was highly interested now, and utterly baffled. "It's not everyday you're at a loss for words," Dean grinned and nudged Sam with his good arm. Sam rolled his eyes.

"I just wanted to say that—"

Before Sam finished, he suddenly felt the ground rise up behind him and pull him down. He landed hard on his back and he looked up dizzily into Dean's worried eyes.

"Sam?" Dean said, caught just as off guard from Sam's sudden trip as Sam was. He reached down an open hand to his brother, who took a moment to blink his eyes into focus before accepting the help. Their hands only barely touched before Dean felt Sam slip away—as Sam was pulled away.

And the burning in his shoulder stopped, and the frigid wind biting at him stopped, and he was no longer cold, but numb. He stood immobilized, watching as something dark was dragging Sam away from him, deeper into the woods…

He stood, wondering why the sounds of his brother yelling were getting louder in his head as Sam was taken farther away.

He stood, wondering what the _hell_ was happening, what kind of freakish nightmare this was that he just couldn't awake from…but then, he realized…

**"_Maybe this isn't our kind of gig,"_**

**"_Yeah, maybe not, except for this. Dad marked the area, Dean. Possible hunting grounds for a Phantom Attacker,"_**

**"_Why would he even do that?"_**

**"_Well, he found a lot of local folklore about a dark figure that comes out at night, grabs people, then vanishes..."_**

Dean's eyes lit with fury and desperation, his breath hitched in his throat and his heart was caught in a throbbing purgatory.

And Dean ran.

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

-:-

_**To be Continued…**_

_Unless I'm the only one who wants to know what happens next, lol…_

_

* * *

_

_Thanks very much for reading. A review letting me know what you thought of this would be nice. And no, I didn't expect to write this kind of tag scene…but so far I'm having a twisted kind of fun with it…please don't hate me for it, lol. Thanks again,_

_Silver Kitten _


	2. Chapter 2

**Proximity**

Author's Note: I believe this is the quickest I've ever updated…and I have 40+ reasons for why that's even possible. I seriously have butterflies in my stomach. I thought I had some error when I got off work and saw all the alerts in my inbox (but a happy error, at that). I am amazed…and suddenly ignited with a new twist for this story, and because you all took the time to support me in this crazy venture, I have taken about half my allotted time to sleep before work tomorrow to whip this chapter out. I'll be floating for days from all of you. Thanks a million. Now I only hope this next chapter is worthy of the attention. I'll let you read while I swat out the butterflies…

* * *

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

Dean ran.

"Sam!"

He ran through each and every stinging stretch in his limbs willing him to stop.

"_Sam!_"

He ran against all the protesting aches in his chest that fought for an even flow of oxygen.

"SAM!"

He ran all the while his body did not favor the motion, and his willpower spoke for him, and he continued to run. He would not let himself stop; would not let Sam disappear into the darkness with that _thing_ latched onto him.

"Sammy!"

Dean ran quicker than he'd ever thought he could.

Still, he couldn't run far enough from fear and pain…and he couldn't run fast enough to Sam.

And willpower, even from the strongest mind, can only endure so much before it's broken by reality. Dean's body broke; snapped dryly from utter exhaustion. He felt his legs give way, and like falling in a dream, everything became surreal- even the ability to fight against it.

His prior exuberance drained into a churning nausea in his stomach. He made one last leap forward, reaching out for his brother, before falling miserably to the earth below.

Dean _couldn't_ run anymore.

But that didn't stop Sam from calling out for him.

And that only fueled Dean's unending determination to get up and keep running.

Yet, against his will, against every bone and tired muscle in his body, Dean found himself unable to keep his eyes open. His body was shutting down, forced to shut down from the exceeded stamina it used. The pain that had been ignored for the duration of the chase had caught up with him and was pulling him to unconsciousness. All senses faded somewhere far away, the only thing remaining were the echoes of his brother's pain-ridden cries to haunt him in his restless sleep.

-:-

Sam fought.

He kicked and pulled, tried grabbing onto something—anything—to get away from his sightless attacker. The more he fought, the more tired he became at the futile battle, and soon the real fear set in. Dean wasn't behind him anymore. Sam swore he tried calling out for Dean, in between struggled breaths and harsh cries that escaped him from being battered against the floor of the woods.

Not knowing if Dean was faring any better encouraged him to fight harder.

So Sam fought.

And he gave all he had to pull free, to kick out of the ever-tightening grasp. Finally, after so many failed attempts, the world stopped moving away from him. He was let go.

He took half a second to catch his breath, struggled to stand up, and looked around him. He searched the dark for anything menacing and found nothing but the web of shadows around him and the trees that seemed to loom over him half-threateningly. He knew he wasn't alone even though he couldn't see his attacker.

"Dean?" Sam called out, spinning around in all directions, hoping for some kind of a response. "Dean!" he yelled louder, infusing more desperation.

Sam turned again, and found himself staring into a wall of blackness. He was shoved mercilessly backwards, felt his spine cringe from the impact with the tree behind him. He shut his eyes as if it could reduce the pain, but it didn't. Suddenly, he felt a grip as cold as ice and hard as steel clenching against his head. The cold stung like fire against his cheeks and he tried to cry out in pain, but instead his voice crumbled in his throat at a dull, wary groan.

It was as if something was clawing his face from the inside out, and the pain was stealing his breath and making his mind numb. He finally couldn't take the darkness, the not knowing, and he opened his eyes and looked before him at a tall, dark figure. It was shapeless, constantly changing like a shadow in wild candlelight, but all the while kept its build tall and its frame defiant against any chance Sam wanted to take to run.

But Sam fought.

He tried to pull away, to get the thing to let go. The harder he tried, the harder the thing held on.

Then Sam saw staring back at him two red, bottomless eyes that sharpened a terrifying glare towards him. He felt the fear prick away at his dwindling strength, and the pain was becoming so overwhelming that all he wanted to do was close his eyes and never open them again…just melt away into the darkness and let the hurting stop.

Still, he couldn't give up…he decided to fight, to fight for Dean…

And Sam fought until he couldn't fight anymore.

He fought until the darkness won him over, the pain exulting over his body.

And he closed his eyes, melting into the darkness, and for a little while let the hurting stop.

-:-

The dark attacker swelled with victory, letting the young Winchester slide down to the base of the tree as he fell unconscious. He hovered around for a moment, wondering what torment he could cause the hunter when he'd awake, what fear-filled energy he'd be able steal from him to thrive off of. Without much thought, it occurred to him what he might do.

_Bring him to the fire…_

-:-

"Sam…" Dean spoke before he was even fully conscious. He opened his eyes, the action almost resisting, given the fresh bout of pain washing over him. It was raining now, a small drizzle that sung a melancholy song through the cruel whispers of the tress in the wind. _He's gone_, they'd whisper, _it's your fault_…

He didn't realize at first how hard he was biting his jaws together, but the new headache informed him of just that. He tried to stand up, having to use his fists against the ground to push his upper body high enough so that he could venture to move his legs.

He bit, literally, through the pain of forced movement when all his body wanted—deserved—was to rest, and he flimsily got to his feet. He wavered in his balance as he gained proper footing for the now wet and increasingly muddy ground.

"Sam!" The older Winchester belted, his voice lashing out at the darkness, the darkness that held his brother hostage. He was left unanswered, save for the light falling of rain that hit the trees and seemed to clamor around him. The silence was always loud when it was Sam he wasn't hearing, and he couldn't stand the screaming silence.

The moonlight was gone, covered in rain clouds that just _had_ to cry _this_ night. Why this night, Dean wondered, knowing he needed all the light he could have to search for his brother. But Dean also thought what a perfect night for the sky to cry—he'd lost his brother for the second time in a matter of days. And angels _would_ cry from the heavens for the bloody rampaging Dean would inflict to find his brother.

"Sammy," Dean said his brother's name as if he were mourning for it. He took a few steps forward, stopped, turned in another direction and took another few steps. He stopped again.

Maddening indecision was now stripping away at his usual collected persona. If only he could stay calm, stay focused, he could better search for Sam.

But where the hell was he supposed to start looking in the middle of no where?

Dean tried to ignore the pain in his shoulder, spreading down his arm and virtually allover his body. He tried to ignore it with all he had, but the incessant throbbing mingled with the fatigue that continued to pull at him, and the pain was disorienting.

His vision was beginning to blur and he took extra effort to focus it. He didn't even notice at first that his body was shaking from the cold wind while his wet clothes were sticking to his aching body. He would have liked nothing more than to just collapse again. Yet, his first collapse only worsened the situation in his eyes, albeit was a small break for him to regain some energy that he was lacking.

Dean wasn't in control, and that was sending his thoughts spinning in rage.

There was something not quite right in the air. The darkness had a color to it, he was noticing, a color he couldn't define maybe because he'd never seen it before, or maybe because it seemed to be every color flashing maniacally around him. He closed his eyes to regain what he hoped he had left of his sanity, and then opened to see the same thing. Maybe he was dreaming, after all, he thought…and he looked at his hands.

He heard somewhere that if you look at your hands while dreaming, you can will almost anything to happen. And he was willing for anything to wake him up, to have Sam safe right next to him, and for the nightmare to be finished.

And he studied his hands, trembling as he put them outright in front of him, but the dull colors didn't stop. And then he heard that voice. He heard that familiar voice that once had such vigorousness to it, but he hadn't heard it in so long that it sounded tired, weary.

"Dean," the stern voice said, and Dean's attention was commanded upward. He saw nothing where he stared and so he turned around partially confused but mostly in shock to see who he saw.

"Dad?" the word tipped out of Dean's lips as he fought against the quivering sensation tugging at him. For a moment, he didn't want to question how this was possible; he just wanted to know it was real. He stepped forward, closer to his father-John Winchester, the man standing there, looking at him, and halted when he jumped back.

"Stay away from me," John barked, his eyes narrowed and his fists clenched together. "You're not my son. My son is a fighter, a warrior…and you didn't fight for Sam…you let him get taken. This is your fault!"

There was a ferocity in the words that Dean had not expected, although he didn't expect to hear his father at all. Still, the words cut through him, and inaudibly he inquired an explanation.

"You can't deny it. You're pitiful, look at you! Sleeping in the mud instead of out there looking for your brother! He is your responsibility, Dean. I trusted you with him and you let me down. You…You are pathetic,"

"But, Dad…I…"

"Don't talk to me. As soon as Sam is found, I'm taking him with me. You can't be trusted with him, you can't protect him, you can't save him…"

"No," Dean felt his throat tighten and his eyes burned. "No, you can't take him. I'll protect him, Dad—I will! I'll save him,"

"You can't even save yourself. You're a failure and no son of mine…"

Dean stared at John. Agony in hot waves was simmering in his eyes. And the colors were changing still, and the rain was making music, and Dean knew something wasn't right.

"No, I'll save him. You can't take him!" Dean found himself shouting with an aggression that surprised even him. "He's my brother,"

"Not if he's _dead_, he isn't," John held an angry glare with a cynical smile.

"Don't say that!" Dean hissed. "I'll save him, I'll find him!" he added, securing his faith in the words.

"You can't save him. He's dead. _You_ killed him. You _murdered_ him."

Dean's eyes widened at the accusation, the accusation he knew he was guilty of.

"No, he's alive…"

"You chose him to die. You picked him, instead of that cop. You murdered him. You murdered Sam. You murdered your brother." John continued to taunt him with the evil words, and Dean was flinching at each verbal stabbing.

"No, no, no…I…he…he's okay…"

"Murderer!"

"Stop it!"

"Murderer! _Murderer_! **_Murderer_**!" John was yelling, shrieking, and the colors were flying as John then disappeared, and Dean wanted to shout, wanted to run away, but he couldn't. And again he was falling.

_I didn't mean to put him in danger…_

Falling faster…

_I would have given anything to take his place…_

Falling harder…

_Sam, come back…Sammy, please…_

Falling…falling…_falling_…

"**SAM!**" Dean screamed out, his eyes opening painfully quick, and he stared up at the moon. His breaths were short and frequent and he felt his heart in his throat. Brushing the pain as best he could away, he sat up, his eyes dodging around him.

It was a dream…he realized. But I'm still in the nightmare…

He thought he should try and calm himself down, to take slow, deep breaths…but it was impossible for him to do so, knowing Sam was somewhere out there. And it _was_ his fault…

The guilt was beginning to resurface as his awareness took over. The hopelessness of the situation was ruthless.

He wanted to have hope, but Sam was his hope, and Sam was gone…

And Dean needed hope…

He couldn't survive in the business without some form of it.

Reality was proving more difficult to grasp than anything. Dean was on his knees, he rubbed his hands over his face, trying to warm up, to wake up, and to just do something other than wallow in pity for his inability to help his brother now.

The tears were just about there, finding their lost path to cry, and Dean was ready to submit. He was willing to admit he'd made a mistake. Sam was his responsibility and he failed at protecting him. He hung his head down; nausea once again spiraled through him as he tried to breathe, to concentrate…

But then he felt the cold hand touch his shoulder…and he turned around with a gasp caught somewhere between a question and a yell.

Dean stood quickly, ignoring his body's objection, and he then stammered out, "It can't be _you_…"

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

-:-

**_The End_**—

_Of chapter two…_

_To be continued…_

_

* * *

_

_I know, I should have been nicer to all of you wonderful reader/reviewers, but I couldn't help myself with this ending. I'll try and have the next part up soon as I can—you've all breathed an extended life to this story that I wasn't expecting. Total angst awaits. Thank you all!_

_Silver Kitten_


	3. Chapter 3

**Proximity**

Author's Note: Sorry if I haven't gotten to all of you personally yet, but a massive thanks to all the support I've received on this story. The reviews (and the pm's and emails) have been a real confidence booster, and has me to strive my hardest to write better with each update. Of course, I'll let you decide if that's true or not. Thanks to all of you. And hopefully you'll be pleasantly surprised with "who" Dean saw…it's a new twist for myself, as well. Note: (In case you forgot, cuz I had to look this up, lol) Officer Kathleen Hudak was the lady cop in this episode _Nightmare_)

* * *

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

"It can't be _you_…" a shiver traced over every inch of Dean's skin as he stared at the figure before him. It was a man, young enough looking to believe the age behind his eyes was beyond his years. Already, he and Dean shared a similarity, though Dean didn't recognize it. His face was freakishly pale, and seeing as the man resembled someone who was supposedly dead, Dean understood.

"Don't tell me I've come all this way to find out _you're_ a skeptic," the man smiled warmly against the cold, emptiness of his appearance. Dean juggled with all the possible words he could say, but nothing quite fit his voice just right. "As you might have guessed, I'm Riley," the man offered.

"Riley? Kathleen's Riley? Officer Hudak's dead brother, Riley?"

Riley nodded. "What's that look for? Haven't you seen a ghost before?" he asked with a smile, genuinely curious. Dean forced his mouth closed as it was agape from shock.

"No—I mean, yeah, it's just…I've seen some pretty weird shit in the past twenty-four hours…I just don't know what I can trust as real or not," Dean replied, staring at the man—the dead man—who was staring back at him with just as much life.

"Well, you're gonna have to trust me."

"Trust you with what?"

"Helping you save your brother, of course."

-:-

When Sam opened his eyes he didn't get the relief of escaping the dark. It was still there, like a force set in motion, and it wasn't letting go of him. By the way his neck and back hurt, he realized he'd been unconscious in a position slumped back against a wall, but not just any wall—it wasn't smooth or finished, but jagged and rocky. Wherever he was he knew he shouldn't be there; knew he didn't want to be there.

He struggled to sit up, using the protrusions in the wall to help pull himself to his feet. He wanted to call out for his brother but had no idea if using his energy like that would be helpful at all. He felt just as he felt while in the Bender's home…he was trapped in a cage from the outside world, from his brother…and he couldn't do anything to help himself get out of it.

Suddenly, firelight flickered in the distance of the dark surrounding him, and Sam was allowed to see that the linings of the walls resembled that of a cave. His theory was confirmed when he looked up and behind him to see the same rocky formations that held him prisoner.

"Damn it," he muttered, facing the distant light again. His head was pounding and he'd been sick and tired of not knowing where he was or what was happening, and more importantly, not knowing where Dean was.

He took an edgy step forward, the pain from the motion instantly collecting itself somewhere in the middle of his head and the ache rattled around inside restlessly. He sucked in a heavy breath and ignored the pain.

If Dean could do it, so could he…

He took a few more steps towards the light, but he found the closer he got the more the light faded in the dark. Still, he continued to walk forth, trying to pick up his pace and catch up with the light. He did so for about thirty seconds until the light went out completely and Sam was left in the dark, solid as a brick wall all around him. He huffed out a bitter sigh. But then he heard a voice…

"Sam…"

It was so peaceful sounding, so welcoming, so familiar…so loved, and too long since he'd heard it.

Jess…

"Have you come home to me, now?" Her voice echoed throughout the cave, encircling him in a soothing reverie. He missed her so much…

"Jess, where are you?" Sam asked. He was answered by the sound of a scream, her scream, and she was screaming so loudly that the darkness shattered around Sam and fire surged before him, knocking him down on his back.

And he stared up in unmistakable horror as Jessica was pinned on the ceiling. The dark washed away to the fire, and the fire pulled on the hinges of his memories of that night, that night he lost Jess…

"Jess!" Sam cried, like he always had, again and again and over and over…but nothing stopped the fire.

"I'm ready for you to come home to me, Sam. I've been waiting…"

In the midst of the nightmarish spectacle, he relinquished his fear to the knowledge that this wasn't really happening, and he was asleep somewhere…

Except, he wondered when it was that in sleep you can feel the fire burn…

How did the heat falling down on him seem to scold more than his guilty conscious? He panicked again and looked around him, seeing fire everywhere. He stood again, roughly, and too notice that the ceiling was now completely covered in flames and Jess was gone. The clouds of fire were now raining blood, and it dripped around him with every drop singing his flesh. He let out a hoarse yell, wanting to run but having no where to run to.

Jess was gone, taken again…and Sam was trapped. There was only one person left, the same person who was always there, that Sam thought to call for.

"Dean!" he yelled, and yelled, searching the dark flames for his brother to come riding in on a proverbial white horse to save him—like always, or at the very least wake him up.

"Dean! I can't wake up, wake me up, Dean…" he yelled out, falling to the ground covered with hot ashes. The burning blood was falling harder now, like in a storm, and Sam felt his tears fall when he didn't hear Dean return his calls, when he didn't see his brother jump through the fire. Sam shut his eyes, fighting against the pain and the heat around him, fighting against his fear that this was really happening and he was really dying…"Dean, help me! Wake me up, please, wake me up!"

But Sam was already awake.

And he knew it when he opened his eyes, and the fire was gone and the shadows were left floating around him in a cold wind- though not soothing at all for how his entire body felt afire. He let out a breath he held as he tried to calm himself down and recover from whatever just happened. He had his best idea of what had him now. It was a phantom attacker, just like their Dad had suspected ruled the area. And some phantom attackers were known to cause hallucinations, to bring back tragic events of the past and recreate them…but never so real, had Sam imagined it.

Through his jumbled thoughts and emotions Sam tried to sort through them and figure out a way he could get out.

He wondered why this phantom was being so vile to him for so long. Typically, the attacks are infrequent and, at most, only bothersome. Although, reports of phantom attackers had mentioned injuries of the victims, it'd be a rare occurrence for the phantom to actually take a life. They were malevolent, but not murderous. At least, Sam was hoping that to be true.

He felt his heart rate slow down dramatically from earlier and his breaths were coming easier. Behind his calming façade, he knew he had to get out soon and his mind was racing.

"All right," Sam started below a breath. "You've had your fun, now let me go," he pleaded with the darkness, wincing as the act of speaking made his chest ache.

At first there was only silence, but then he heard the stale wind move about the cave and the coolness of it wrapped around him uncomfortably.

"I've shown you the past…let me show you the future," a dark voice answered thickly. Sam ignored the shady undertone to the voice and focused on his environment, concentrating, waiting…

And the darkness around him lightened, and Sam swung around to see Dean clearly, standing a few feet away. He looked as if lights with no sources were shining down only on him, and Sam couldn't help but think it was a suitable notion that Dean was his light in the dark. A smile came to his face and he stepped forward to Dean. But Dean faltered back, his hands suddenly clutching his stomach, and Sam felt the scream edging its way out his throat before he even saw the blood dripping over his brother's hands.

-:-

"You…you're gonna help me save my brother?" Dean, who wasn't upset with the idea, couldn't help the question.

"It's the least I can do…after all, he's your family. You helped to save mine, so I will help to save yours," Riley answered the question matter-of-factly and then proceeded to walk to the other side of Dean, although he appeared to be hovering. Dean felt his face warm a little. He'd been thanked before for playing hero, but never had the favor been returned…much less, had a ghost from the great beyond offered to help instead of causing mayhem for the Winchester brothers. He wasn't quite sure how to handle it.

"I…well…"

"Thank me later. Right now, we have to move," Riley stated, pointing down a dark pathway. "There…"

Dean took his eyes off the vigorous spirit a moment, and released himself of any shock and confusion that was welling up inside him, and once again the harsh reality of Sam still missing hit him. And Dean was without breath again.

"How do you know?" Dean asked rightfully, not willing to let his guard down just yet.

"Because, that's where he takes all of them…" Riley said, starting to move forward. Dean reached to grab his shoulder and force him to stop, but he was dumbfounded at himself for trying to grab a spirit. He looked at his hand accusingly and huffed. His senses were getting away from him; although he angrily mused a moment at how unfair it was that ghosts could sometimes touch humans but not the other way around. Riley just turned slightly and looked at him.

"What do you mean 'he'? Who is 'all of them'?" Dean was demanding, not wanting to fall into some trap but not wanting to take too much time to interrogate a _dead_ man when his brother was out there somewhere.

Riley seemed to sigh. "The phantom attacker who has been hunting here for a while. You think the Benders were responsible for _every_ missing person here? They caused a lot of…grief…but they weren't alone in the act."

Dean hung his head. Fuck, their Dad was on to something and Dean overlooked it. Sam wanted to delve into it, but Dean had to ignore it…Shit. This was more his fault now than it already was.

"So, this creep has my brother, is what you're telling me?" Having a better handle, a better grip—a kind of knowledge as to what he was dealing with—allowed the fear to subside a little and his anger and determination to find Sam shine through. And it would shine blindingly.

"A couple miles or so ahead there's a cave. It's where he takes his victims," Riley announced, and Dean shuddered at the word 'victim' because he knew he meant Sam.

"Why haven't the cops found it, found the bodies?"

"Because," Riley became suddenly perturbed but kept patience in his tone. "The cave grounds are pretty much condemned; they're too much of a safety hazard. And when they have scouted the cave they never found anything. The bodies are never there because he doesn't keep them there,"

Dean scoffed. "No offense, but why am I supposed to believe any of this? How do I know you aren't leading me farther away from my brother instead of closer to him?"

"I just want to help, I have to help…"

"Just tell me how you know all this!" Dean's voice bellowed and the darkness seemed to cringe. He was becoming more impatient and more frustrated. This was wasting time, but Dean would rather be sure he was doing the right thing by following Riley than make a worse mistake.

Riley paled even more, becoming transparent and flickering in and out of sight like a bulb waiting to burn out. He wore a grimacing expression and there was sadness behind his eyes, a kind of sadness Dean saw before in his brother's eyes.

"He took her," Riley said, visibly struggling to keep his voice steady. "He took my fiancée, Cindy. I thought I could bring her back. No one believed me that some dark shape in the shadows pulled her away from me. And Kathleen tried to stop me from coming out here to look for her, but I told her I had to…and despite her concern, I left. I didn't expect some backwoods family would get to me before I got to the phantom… but I knew about this thing. I researched plenty about this thing…just, trust me. I _want_ to help you,"

And although Sam was usually the one for sympathetic exchanges and understandings, Dean couldn't help but trust his instinct that Riley meant well. There was a dark honesty to his story that Dean could relate to, could understand…and it was as good a reason to trust him as any for the sake of his brother.

"I'm sorry, man, I…" and again, Dean didn't know what to say and was still in partial shock that he was talking to a ghost.

"This is why I need to help you. I couldn't save Cindy, but maybe I can help save your brother. Now, are you going to trust me, or not?"

"Yeah, I trust you," Dean confirmed, and he headed off in the direction that Riley was moving. He tried to run again but Riley suggested he save his strength for when they reached the cave. Dean, although bitter about the situation, complied.

Dean didn't stare at any one thing for too long. A branch here, a rock there, he kept his mind focused on anything else, trying not to imagine what his kid brother was going through right now. _Just hang on, Sammy…_

-:-

"Dean?" Sam frowned, staring at his brother in horror that only intensified with each shaky breath he heard Dean struggle with. _He's losing so much blood…_

"Sam, it's over."

"What? What happened…?" Sam tried to go to Dean but he couldn't move.

"It got me, Sam. Right after—" Dean suddenly coughed, blood spitting from his mouth. "After you left me."

"No…" Sam said, and he tried again to run over to Dean, but it felt as though something was holding him there and he couldn't break free. "No, it can't be happening!"

"Why did you leave, Sam? Why did you let it get me? Do you hate me that much?" Dean choked out, doubling over and coughing more. And Sam fought again from the invisible hold on him, and his heart ached to hear his brother ask such questions. His whole body was tingling with fear.

He wondered why this seemed so real, why it hurt so much…

He tried to make himself aware that this was just an illusion. Dean wasn't there. Dean's stomach wasn't gashed open. Dean was _not_ going to die.

"This isn't real…you're not real," Sam tensed his body and held his head up, sucking in a deep breath. A look of betrayal seemed to flash in Dean's eyes.

"Sam, it—it really—hurts," he heard Dean's voice cry, saw Dean's body drop to the ground, and even though Sam knew it couldn't possibly be Dean, his resolve was crumbling each second he had to witness such a sight as his brother dying.

"Stop this! Leave me alone!" Sam shouted to the darkness. "This isn't real, I know it isn't!"

Ominous waves of laughter swam around Sam now, and he looked to where Dean had been and let out a small sigh of relief when he wasn't there anymore. Sam spun around, submerged in darkness once more. The laughter had stopped and he tried to brace himself for whatever might happen next.

The first thing he saw was a tiny glimmer of light, a mere reflective flash and then it was gone. He stared fixated on where the flash was- waiting to see it again, waiting to see it move…waiting to react.

He took in a breath. He let out another. He waited.

Silence.

Darkness.

Just him breathing in, and breathing out.

And he was waiting.

Breathing in. Breathing out.

In the darkness.

With the silence.

Until he felt the icy, rigid blade slithering over his abdomen.

And the darkness splintered, and the silence erupted, and he couldn't breathe anymore.

-:-

"How much farther?" Dean inquired hastily.

"We're almost there," Riley answered, turning briefly to notice the pained tension in Dean's face. "Can you make it?"

Dean looked up from the ground and into the spirit's incredulous, blue eyes.

"I'll make it," he affirmed, and though his voice was weak it did nothing to betray the determination in his eyes.

Riley was quiet for a moment but the silence was lacking from the break and crunch of twigs and leaves below Dean's boots. When his pace seemed to quicken again, Riley spoke.

"It's not your fault, you know?"

"Excuse me?" Dean asked, cocking an eyebrow.

"Your brother being taken—it wasn't your fault."

"Like hell it wasn't," Dean muttered. "I told him,"—he stopped with a sharp intake of breath as his own words were biting him in the ass. "I told him nothin' bad would happen to him as long as I was around…"

"You're his big brother. Of course you wouldn't let anything bad happen to him, just like my sister always took responsibility for me- more than she should have. Sometimes, bad things just happen. Sometimes, we're just not in control," Riley explained. The words hung around Dean threateningly, pulling his stomach into knots.

"I appreciate what you're trying to do and all, but…it doesn't matter what you tell me. I just couldn't live with—if anything happens to him—look," Dean paused as he breathed in every emotion he'd ever known and exhaled just the same. "I take care of him. He's _my_ responsibility. In control or not- _I_ find a way to bring him back, to keep him safe. It's what I do and I'll be _damned_ if I can't do what I do best."

The two looked at each other, studied the other for some sense of understanding. Riley's case had logic, and Dean understood that more than he'd like to admit. Sometimes, you just were not in control. However, Dean's case had heart and dedication, and it seemed to be the Winchester way for devotion to often outweigh logic.

They broke their eye contact the second a petrified yell jostled the wind around them. Before Riley knew what was happening, Dean took off in a mad run. He seemed to struggle at first with the pain coursing through his body, diminishing the strength in his legs, but he limped his way into a full speed marathon run when he heard another yell for help.

"SAM!"

-:-

Consciousness. Awareness. Belief that it was happening.

It all hurt so much. It was all so hopeless now.

Before the object could slice through his skin, he kept one solitary thought in mind.

Dean.

He'd have to fight this one on his own, so he couldn't let fear win. He wasn't sure how he managed the strength, but somehow he'd pulled free from the dark force grappling him. He threw himself on the ground, inching his way on his hands and knees to someplace away from the threat. He didn't know what he was doing or what he could do to get out of this, but he knew he was going to give his attacker hell. If only he could see it.

Then he saw those red eyes glaring at him from a near distance, steadily moving closer, becoming more intimidating. As soon as he thought to jump back, something already had a hold of him.

Steel hands clutched onto his head, smothering it with stinging pain. He couldn't hold in the shock of the pain, and so he yelled. He cried out, for there was nothing else he could do.

A moment later he heard someone call out for him.

"_SAM!"_

He knew it was Dean. And suddenly, Sam had hope.

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

-:-

**To be Continued…**

**

* * *

**

_I struggled with this chapter; hopefully that doesn't show too much, lol. This idea is taking me **very** far from where I originally planned on taking it, so I'm kind of nervous about it because this thing has a mind all its own now. I think there's only one more part after this to torture you all with, so fret not. Thanks for reading, and thanks for sharing your thoughts._

_Silver Kitten_


	4. Chapter 4

**Proximity**

Author's Note: It figures I wait long enough to update, that when I'm finally ready- the site is down! Sorry for the extended delay. Typical excuses of work, being sick, being sick of work, and life in general. I'm hoping the heightened level of Dean angst will make up for it. The story is almost done, isn't that exciting? Huge thanks to all the lovely readers. You're an added bonus to why I keep on writing.

* * *

-:-:-:-:-:-

"SAM!" Dean called again, and Sam could tell he was getting closer. His voice failed him when he tried to call back, and soon he felt as though the wind was knocked, or shoved, out of him as his body collided with one of the stern cave walls. He let out a muffled grunt before he slumped down to the ground, his head throbbing from the remaining imprints of pain left from the tight grip. It was then he realized he was let go, thrown away like trash, and the first thought he had as he regained his senses was the phantom was now after Dean.

He tried to yell out a warning but his inward struggle to shout only elicited a coughing fit. Red eyes glared at him from a distance—a blink—then they disappeared to darkness. Sam squinted in the dark and finally he made out a shade of light, signifying to him an opening to the cave. His eyes held on to the light as he tried to stand but his strength wavered from his knees when he saw a swiftly moving shadow pass beyond the light.

_Dean, get away from here…_

-:-

With the faint moonlight sketching an outline for the cave, Dean finally saw it and pushed his body even harder to run quicker.

"Sam!" Dean shouted again, and he truly panicked when his call did not warrant a response. Sam's yells and cries had seemingly ceased and the night was unbearably quiet, unnerving him as he could only hear his hasty footsteps stomping into the ground.

He was just outside the cave entrance when an awkwardly large shadow rushed by him, sending him backwards with a fierce momentum. He didn't fall, couldn't fall, and so he only took one glance behind him as he continued for the cave. Dean reached for the open darkness that held his brother captive, and as he did something latched onto his shoulders, pulling him back and hurling him to the ground.

Something loud cracked in his ears as he felt a few or more of his bones snap clumsily around in the aching pit that was his body. He cursed under a painful breath as he lifted himself up on his side and tried to stand again, not so thwarted from the surprise attack as he was from again being torn farther from his brother.

Just as he was about to fully regain a standing position, claw-like hands singed his face with a sharpening pain, and he tried to yell out but couldn't. He fought against the pain, fought the grip, and after the longest four seconds he'd mustered enough strength the break away, sending himself backwards and he stood against a tree. He stared into two, deep red eyes that seemed to be pinning him to the tree now. He was sure if the intimidating creature could smile against the dark shadow of his face, Dean would see him beaming ecstatically now.

Dean struggled to move, glancing from the red eyes towards the cave.

Suddenly, as he saw Sam limping into the moonlight outside the cave, a silent scream across his lips and a look of hurt shining in his eyes, Dean felt a different kind of weakness wash over him; it was a weakness he couldn't describe but seemed to originate somewhere deep in his heart. His brother was hurt, his brother had been damaged, but his brother was safe and _alive_, and Dean's heart ached with relief. He almost wanted to smile. Sam seemed to want to smile, too, a kind of ironic smile that would say 'Great, you're okay but still in trouble and now it's my turn to save you'. And Dean would accept that for what it was, as long as Sam was smiling.

All thoughts of smiling vanished when Dean saw a new set of red, glaring eyes approaching Sam from the darkness of the cave. He felt his voice leave his mouth in a barely audible cry for Sam to run, but somehow by the shock of it all he couldn't form the right words. The second phantom had Sam, yanking him back into the cave before Dean could even imagine a violent threat to shout at the damn thing.

The other phantom that held him against his will advanced toward him, who thrashed wildly against himself to run again after Sam. He heard Sam yelling out with only what Dean could visualize as the most agonizing pain. Then Dean felt the phantom stab invisible claws into his chest, digging in so deep that for a moment Dean couldn't breathe. It seemed to feel like something was severing his flesh from the inside out, relentlessly pounding pain into him that couldn't find an escape route through tears or screams, but through mind-numbing thoughts that willed him to shut his eyes forever.

But he wouldn't sleep without Sam safe and sound beside him.

And the monster released him and he fell to the ground hands first to hold himself up. The shredding pain he felt being scratched into him was absent, but in its void he felt the beginnings of dull throbs, and he was almost certain whatever just happened would leave some kind of bruising. He panted out heavy breaths reluctantly as the pass of oxygen in his lungs seemed to burn his chest and choke in his throat. As intense as the pain was, he couldn't think of it now, as his thoughts were dominated by those of Sam. If he hurt this much, he hated knowing Sam could experience even half this pain.

He swore he heard something evil laugh in the wind that brushed past him, as the phantom attacker abandoned his position and disappeared into the cave where Sam was.

_Get up, damn it…_

The pressure in his chest seemed to buckle him down to the ground. He fisted the cold grass in his hands angrily, taking in a sharp breath and mentally willing the pain to stop- at least just long enough for him to save Sam. The power of positive thinking wasn't doing much for him, and he sent a quick, silent jeer of envy out to those who could always remain restlessly optimistic.

There was an explosion of brilliant, white light that forced Dean to shut his eyes. At the same time, he felt an icy wind scrape past him and it made him shudder. After the light vanished, he was left seeing the residual flashes as his vision cleared to normal and adjusted to the darkness. It was then he began to feel the ground tremble and he looked up towards the cave to see it starting to crumble. Bits and pieces of the cave ceiling broke out of place and clunked on the earth. Soon, the cave walls were deteriorating inward.

Dean scrambled to get up but was in no condition to move quick or easy enough to make it in time. He watched in slow horror as he was helpless to stop the cave collapse from happening. Fear crawled over his skin and into his stinging eyes as the entrance of the cave fell apart, blocking him from Sam completely.

"Sam! NO!" The frightened cry left him before he even thought to breathe. By the time he managed, struggling all the way, to reach the entrance, all that was left was a solid mound of rocks and boulders. Although the cave wasn't menacing in size, and he guessed it didn't go on too far, he listened to it break and shatter in the night and it never seemed to stop.

The world was literally falling apart in front of him—His world, Sam, was being ripped away. Sam was there, in the middle of the chaos, right there, so close but entirely too far away.

"Fuck," Dean spat bitterly, turning away from the collapsed sight just briefly to grapple with his sanity. "No, Sam…Not you."

Dean fell to his knees as the last edges of the cave collapsing finished with a clattering echo of rock against earth. Immediately, Dean went for the first rock he saw, then another and another until he was picking up the debris and throwing it away like it was the most revolting thing in the world. He ignored the new bruising and fresh cuts his hands were receiving and kept on digging, clawing towards a way to get Sam out. He couldn't feel his shoulder, the fire poker having done enough damage and caused enough pain to now go numb. Dean hated feeling numb, and fire poker, flesh wound, pounding headache or not…without Sam, that's all Dean felt. Numb.

"Sammy! Come on," Dean wasn't sure if Sam could hear him, but he needed to believe there was a way. "You're not—going to let—a bunch of pebbles—take you down!" he ordered between hefty breaths. He had no concept and no concern for how he was maintaining his strength to dig. It was as if he was now a machine, steel at its finest, working continuously by some power he didn't need to understand, just use.

A drifting thought came to him suddenly, though he didn't pay too much attention to it. Still, he had to wonder where Riley disappeared to. _Anytime you want, feel free to do what you tagged along to do and help my brother…_

The rocks were getting no where, and the further he dug, the larger the fallen cave became. It was now a giant predator, and Dean didn't know how to kill it. He threw one more rather large, rather heavy rock to the side. It clamored against a tree and a half amusing thought pitched in Dean's head that it'd be just perfect for that tree to snap, collapse on him, and maybe he could physically die since he already felt dead. He shook himself away from the maddening, random thoughts. It was hard to focus on anything, hard to breathe, hard to keep digging.

"Sam! Sam!" Dean bellowed in defeat, slamming his fists against the cave debris. "Not you, Sam…You can't go. I just got you back! I just got you back and you're—you're gone! What the Hell, Sam!"

Hot tears found their way out, one by one, each one dripping to the earth took something with it, something away from Dean.

And Dean kneeled there. And it was not night. Time did not exist. There were no phantom attackers. Riley had never been there. His heart stopped beating. Air quit halfway in his throat. Nausea relapsed back into his stomach. He was not numb. He did not feel. He was just there. It was just him. Just Dean. For three seconds. It was just him.

And after those three seconds, reality finally struck him…hard.

After three seconds of being the epitome of loneliness, he realized why he was alone, what had been taken from him, who he was missing.

After three seconds, it wasn't _just_ Dean. It was Dean _without_ Sam.

And then he felt everything. All the pain, all the fear, all the sadness, all the anger, all the resentment, all of it throbbed behind his eyes.

And then he felt numb, but not numb enough to stop all the negative feelings, all the appalling emotions that were strangling him.

Nausea overtook him once more.

He couldn't stop breathing, even if he absently thought once he could fight the natural instinct to do so.

His heart was beating all too fast, all too painfully.

Riley abandoned him like everyone seemed to do in Dean's life.

_But not Sam…Sam always comes back..._

"Come back, Sammy…"

Where there should have been fear, there was a simmering hatred when he almost remembered the phantom attackers. At the moment, he couldn't care enough to really think about them, couldn't fear their sudden return. He would have plans for them…just not yet…

Time was an excruciating reminder of all he'd never gotten to say, would never get the chance to say. Time existed much to his dismay, passing quicker by the second but dragging on every minute like a trap waiting to close in on him.

And it was night. And the night was swallowing him up entirely in darkness.

He wanted to call out for help. Who would come? Who would listen? _Who could possibly help me now?_

Dean stood. He was a Winchester, and as so, would not call for help. He already, subconsciously, decided that he would take matters into his own hands. He fisted his hands, his unwilling grief automatically presenting itself in the form of anger with a monstrous thirst for revenge. If this was the end of Sam, which Dean dreaded to believe, then it'd mean only one thing. Something was going to suffer the consequences.

Right now, with the threat still out there—Dean couldn't process grief. He couldn't accept loss. He couldn't just sit there and dwell. Right now, he _had_ to hunt. He _needed_ to hunt, or the pain of his suffering would drive him irreversibly insane.

Naturally, his hunter instinct, thriving only on a sudden urge to kill something, anything, had kicked in. Dean was aware of the energy behind him, watching him, studying him, waiting for him to react.

And though he didn't know how he'd stop the threat, didn't know what he could ever do with his own bare hands against a shadow…he'd fight. He'd find out. And because he was a Winchester, he only had the mindset that when fighting for his brother, he would have to win. He'd fight. He'd win. It was simple.

_Because vengeance is a bitch._ Dean took in a long, shuddering breath. His body shook as anger pulsed wildly in him.

Slowly, Dean turned around to face the monster.

And he met a set of glowing eyes, but they were not red. They were blue.

Once he held eye contact a moment, the glowing faded and from the darkness there was a whitish hue that transformed into the familiar apparition of Riley. Piercing blue eyes stared at Dean, and they were sad eyes that longed to release the sadness held within. He stepped forward to Dean, as Dean shrunk back with exhausted confusion and anger and misery.

Riley opened his mouth to speak, but Dean heard him without listening as Riley spoke silently to his thoughts.

_I'm sorry, Dean. I'm sorry._

Dean didn't want to hear why, didn't want to think it was because he failed and Sam really was gone. He needed something bad, something evil, something that wasn't sorry so he could kill it. He needed to kill it, for maybe killing it would make all the pain go away.

"Don't say sorry. Don't say he's—" Dean choked out a sob he was holding in. "_Dead_. Don't tell me that. Don't say it…"

"Dean, it's over now," Riley said plainly, apologetically.

_Damn his apology! It won't bring Sam back. _

Dean, for reasons beyond his comprehension, grabbed a heavy enough rock to make a decent impact on something and threw it at Riley. The rock went through him, as he wasn't really there, and Dean knew it would but still wanted to try and damage something the way he felt damaged now. He tossed his hands in the air when the rock made a loud thud on the ground, and he was defeated.

"You said you'd help! You said you'd fucking help me! Why don't you help me then! Bring. Sam. Back." Dean spoke lowly, threateningly. Riley remained silent, a small smile gently crossed his features and Dean narrowed his eyes.

"Thank you, Dean. Thank you for saving Kathy. Thank you for letting me go _home_," Riley said suddenly, as he began to disappear. His bright blue eyes looked past Dean, somewhere distant that Dean couldn't reach. And Dean watched as the sadness in his eyes was released. His smile was genuine. And then he completely vanished into a light sent only for him. Once he was gone, so was the light, and then the darkness seemed heavier than before.

Dean stood, utterly dumbfounded at the spectacle. He was lost entirely on all levels of the word. As he braced himself to cut through the silence enveloping him and yell out odd obscenities to a dead man, a softer voice cut in first.

"Dean…"

It came from behind him. Dean closed his eyes. Partly to see if this was some nightmare he was beginning to wake up from. Partly to stop a new line of tears from breaking out. He turned again, afraid with the fear of disappointment, and he didn't want to open his eyes. Still, curiosity won out, as it was one of the few feelings he could feel that made sense to him, and he opened his eyes.

There, in a clearing lit by the moonlight, stood Sam.

Moments, that seemed like ages, before, Dean understand what it meant for the sky to fall and the world—his world, to cave in around him. He learned what true suffocation felt like.

And as he observed his brother, well and alive, standing there with a goofy grin on his face…Dean learned what it meant to be revived, to take in that first breath of air after being withheld from it. He breathed in, long and hard, before preparing for another run towards Sam. Only this time, he wouldn't be chasing him, but meeting him halfway.

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

-:-:-:-:-:-:-

-:-

**To be Continued…**

**

* * *

**

_Aren't you happy I didn't end a few paragraphs earlier, which would have caused you to believe Sam died? See—I am capable of being nice…hehehe. I hope you enjoyed this as much as I enjoyed writing it. There will be one more part, coming soon since it's half way done, which will explain everything from Riley to the phantom attacks, and of course include the much needed Sam/Dean reflection of what hell they've been through. A little more angst, and never enough brotherly love, coming soon. Thanks for reading._

_Silver Kitten_


	5. Chapter 5

**Proximity**

Author's Note: The completion of another story has arrived. I'm excited. This has got to be one of the longest "tag" scenes ever…I want to briefly tell you how much this story has escalated on its own from my original plot. If you're interested, you can read it. If not, that's okay.

Originally, chapter one was basically true to what I had in mind. Only, after Sam was initially taken, Dean would have caught up, and the phantom attacker would have relented, having caused its mischief already (after researching them, all I mainly found was that they were a nuisance, at most). From there, Dean and Sam would continue their walk home, they'd talk, and that was basically it. So, somewhere I decided to give the phantom attacker(s) a cruel spin, I added a cave (which, by the way, I wonder now how that's even plausible…a cave? What was I thinking? I'll roll with it…), then, for kicks, I brought Riley in. Also, I was going to have Sam and Dean get trapped in this mysterious 'cave' but…I've done enough damage to them in this story. I need to save some angst for the next one I have planned. -_grins_-

Anyway, I think I tied up the loose ends…I did add a sort of memory/flashback/dream thing for Dean, just to give some added insight. It's in his perspective and it was different, but fun, for me to write. I'll just…quit this novel of an author's note and let you read.

* * *

-:-:-:-:-

Dean ran towards Sam, who was running, or rather half-jogging and half-limping, over to him. A fleeting thought flashed in his mind before he reached Sam, that after this—he'd choose not to run ever again unless he was being chased by a demon threatening to scar his face (or, naturally, if Sam needed his help in a hasty fashion).

Sam practically fell forward in his brother's near presence, but Dean caught his shoulders in time and held him up firmly, desperately, and for the first time in a long time he felt accomplished. Sam met the studious, concerned eyes of his older brother.

"Are you okay?" he asked, placing a hand on Dean's shoulder and squeezing subconsciously, needing to affirm it really was his brother there before him and not some vision, some nightmare.

"That's a really dumb question, College Boy," Dean said, shaking his head with a light but growing smile. Sam shuddered out a laugh.

"I thought you weren't gonna come looking for me again," Sam did his best to smile through the pain as he threw his brother's earlier words back at him. The two remained partially standing and partially hugging for a moment, neither really knowing what was supposed to happen next. Dean clapped Sam's shoulder, gentler than he usually would given he didn't know the extremities of Sam's injuries.

"What can I say? I guess I like having you around. Someone needs to help clean my guns," Dean offered. He then set his humor aside and took a long, inspecting look at his brother who seemed to flinch in observation.

"You look a lot worse than I feel," Sam quickly noted, and Dean shot him a hardened expression of scrutiny.

"Let's not even talk about _feelings_, Dr. Phil. If you ever let me think a cave…caved in on you, I swear I'll…" but Dean didn't finish his remark, and Sam waited for the wittiness he'd come to expect from his brother, waited for the silly show of concern through idle threats he'd recognized were signature for Dean. And Sam only waited a few moments before his brother's expression softened, he closed his eyes a moment and slowly opened them, taking one more longing look at Sam.

Then he closed his eyes again, and the earth shifted for Sam as Dean stumbled backward before completely falling unconscious.

"Dean!" Sam dropped; trying to catch his brother a bit too late, then lifted his head up and tried bringing him awake. "Dean, hey!" He shook him lightly, but Dean was completely gone now in a faraway sleep; his body broken as it dared to take in elongated, needed breaths. Exhaustion had caught up with him once more, and this time Dean couldn't fight it, didn't need to—because Sam was safe.

-:-

_**I remember…**_

"_Dean! Wake up!" _

_Instantly, I open my eyes. It's my father, and he's yelling, he's commanding, and so I obey. _

"_What? What's wrong?" _

_Something is wrong. I can tell in his voice, I can feel it…_

_Because the bed next to mine is empty, and the rest of the motel is quiet._

"_Your brother is gone, Dean. Where is he?" He implores, he orders, but I can't respond because I don't have an answer._

"_Sammy's gone?" I can't help the question, and I shouldn't have asked._

"_What do you…" his voice was stern, but now he's talking lower, and I hear the sadness. "I asked you to watch him, and you're taking a nap?"_

_His stare is of sheer disappointment, and it stings in my eyes before I can stop the swell of tears. I can't cry—won't cry—especially in front of my Dad. _

"_I was just so tired, I…I'm sorry, I'll find him!" I scramble to get out of bed, throwing the covers away and scampering to find my other shoe. I feel a hand on my shoulder and I spin around to see him standing, staring, and I hear the order before he speaks it._

"_We'll find him together."_

_I nod, force my shoe on so quickly that it fits awkwardly for the first few feet I jog towards the door. _

_I know it is windy and cold outside, but I don't think to grab my jacket. My Dad does for me._

_And when he opens the door heatedly, worriedly, and the entire world is set before my eyes I see exactly what my little brother has stumbled into. _

_There are monsters out here, demons, and ghosts…enemies. _

_There's pain and injury and death._

_All things I keep him from, I save him from, I protect him from…_

_But I can't do that now, because I don't know where he is…_

_And I become the one who needs protecting from my own worst fear, who needs to be saved from my greatest pain of losing Sam. Dad is the only one to keep me from those things, and right now I walk closer to him than I usually do because I can't lose sight of him either. _

_I reach out for my Dad's hand but I stop myself. We don't hold hands because we need easy access to our weapons at all times. _

_We walk fast, almost running, almost not moving at all because we don't know if we're headed in the right direction. _

_Suddenly, I remember a park we drove past a few blocks from the motel. I remember how Sammy's eyes lit up eagerly at the thought of going. And I remember how his eyes lost some of their shine when I said I couldn't take him today because I was tired, even though I promised we'd go tomorrow. I wonder how I can be so selfish, now…_

"_This way," I motion down the street to where the park is, and now we run. The wind feels like it's blowing against us, trying to keep us away. It only makes me run faster. _

_Across the street—How did he cross the street without me?—I see him climbing up a slide. It's a tall slide, probably the tallest he'd ever seen, and it was too tall for a five year-old Sam to go on by himself. _

"_Sammy!" I yell, and the wind must carry my voice away from him because he doesn't hear, doesn't listen, and he climbs all the way to the top. _

_I am halfway in the middle of the road when I feel the tug on my jacket and suddenly I'm jerked backwards, buried somewhere in my Dad's arms. Immediately after, a car speeds by, narrowly missing the tip of my shoe. The car horn blares, and I watch as Sam begins to lose his balance as he stands on the top of the slide, the loud noise startling him. He turns his body enough to see us standing on the other side of the street._

"_Dean! Daddy!" he yells excitedly, unknowingly. _

_And a heavy gust of wind arrives just in time to catch the unbalanced Sammy, and he topples over the edge of the slide to the cold ground._

_I pull from my Dad, dodge another car, and I'm cradling him in my arms before I realize I even took a step forward. Sammy is crying, but he looks up at me with a kind of smile anyways. "You came to play with me," he sniffles happily, and I hold him closer. _

_Dad gets there and I think he wonders a moment if he should take Sam into his own arms away from me. He wonders, but he doesn't act. Instead, he kneels down and holds us both. Sam stops his crying quickly, seemingly unfazed by the fall itself. He must see the look of concern, of disappointment in our father, and so he pouts now._

"_I'm sorry, Daddy," he says, and then hides his face in my shirt. Dad ruffles Sammy's windblown hair and looks at me._

"_I know. I'm sure it won't happen again," he tells me, not Sammy, and I understand. _

_A few minutes later, the scare concedes to fits of laughter as I watch Dad push Sammy on the swing. I stand nearby and see how happy, how carefree Sammy looks, and how Dad seems to mimic those expressions around Sammy. It hurts to think he can't just stay that way, but I understand why. Or, at least, I understand that Dad has a reason why, one I might understand later…_

_As Sam is swinging high, giggling all the way, Dad walks over to me for a moment. He kneels down so we're eye to eye, and I am afraid to look at him, afraid to hear what he has to say. Still, I listen as he speaks, and I keep steady eye contact._

"_Dean, do you know what could have happened today?" he asks, and my eyes threaten to water up but I swallow the knot in my throat as the different scenarios played through my mind. I only nod. "I know things are tough for us, especially for you…but I need to know I can count on you. I need to know you'll protect Sam, watch him when I'm not around. Can I count on you?"_

"_Yes, sir," I reply right away. A light smile crosses his face. _

"_Good. From now on, I can trust you'll keep Sam in your proximity at all times."_

"_What's prox…proximity?" I ask him, and as I do his expression turns appreciative and reflective. _

"_Proximity is closeness. Keeping him with you, near you," he explains. "Watch him for me when…I can't. Can you promise me that?" And again, his smile flutters away and that familiar sadness returns in his eyes. _

"_Yes, sir," I tell him. "I promise."_

_He smiles briefly, sincerely, and then pats me on the back. "Thank you, son."_

"_Daddy! I'm going too fast," Sammy's voice cuts in. "I think I'm gonna throw up!"_

_And Dad rushes over, carefully slowing the swing down and letting Sam step onto the ground. He runs for me and throws his little arms around my waist. _

"_Are you ready to go back to the motel now?" I ask, doing my best to hug his shorter form. He peeks his head up and looks at me curiously._

"_I wanta go wherever you do. So we can be in the same prox-minity," he says. I have to laugh._

"_Proximity," I correct him, but he doesn't seem to care and shrugs his shoulders._

"_As long as we're together," Sammy squeezes me tighter. I look up to see Dad smiling at us, and I think he's almost afraid to step near. He always maintained a sort of distance, though nearby. He seemed to have his own idea of proximity. Maybe one day I'll understand that, too. _

_I return my attention to Sam._

"_I'll never let anything keep us apart, Sammy," I promise him, and I promise myself._

_**I'll never let anything keep us apart…**_

_**But I let you get taken by those homicidal hicks…**_

**_I promised…We'd stay together, I'd keep you safe…_**

_**But I let you get snatched by that damn thing tonight…**_

_**I'm sorry, Sammy. **_

"Dean."

_**I'm sorry I failed you.**_

_**I'm sorry I failed Dad.**_

"Can you hear me?"

_**I failed…**_

"Dean…Wake up, Dean."

-:-

Sam watched as Dean's eyes opened. A sense of relief finally arrived for him and his silent heartache relaxed at the sight of bright eyes staring up at him.

Dean took a moment to focus his eyesight before catching a look from his worried brother, and he tried to shake away the memories that floated into his subconscious that seemed to properly haunt him all the while.

"Good to see you again," Sam said cheerfully. "I was beginning to forget what color your eyes were," he added for the light tone he was accustomed to receiving from Dean. "Besides, what color _would_ you say your eyes are?"

"As long as I still have a face, I don't care," Dean smiled weakly. "How long have I been out?"

"Almost two days."

"And what…"

"Well," Sam already sensed the oncoming rain of questions his brother would have, so he was prepared to answer in a single statement. "You passed out. I did my best to heave your prone body out of the woods when luckily Officer Hudak showed up. She noticed the Impala—which is fine, mind you—still in the parking lot and so she set out after us. She gave us a lift to the station. I drove you home, cleaned you up, and have been waiting for you to wake up."

"Oh," Dean remarked. "Is that all?"

"Seriously, how are you feeling?"

"Kind of like someone turned me inside out and then back again," Dean explained with a stiff pain heavy in his voice as he attempted to sit up in the motel bed. His movement caught rigidly as his chest ached again. He slumped back down on the bed and put his hands to his chest.

"Yeah, you have some pretty nasty bruises on your chest. That thing left red scratch-like marks all over you," Sam told him, and Dean nodded quickly.

"I saw those marks on your face, too. You're lookin' better," Dean mentioned, taking his attention away from himself. Sam grinned but Dean went on before he could say anything. "Still look like crap, though."

Sam was able to laugh, a small, quiet laugh, and Dean did what he could to appease the joy of hearing his brother laugh and chuckled with what energy he could.

They were quiet for a moment, another long moment where words seemed to escape easier than they'd arrive on the tip of their tongues.

It had been too long of a week for them both, too long of being apart and now that they were finally together again, it seemed to be so long that they didn't know how to start again.

"So, you were right," Dean finally said, and Sam raised his head to really look at his brother.

"About what?"

"The Phantom Attackers…I blew it off, but if I only would have just listened…well, then you…and…" he seemed to struggle with his words, and Sam saw the distant grief shining in his eyes as he searched for what to say to make things okay.

Sam hesitantly moved his hand up on the edge of the bed, carefully plotting the next move. As Dean hurriedly looked away, it was cue for Sam to move his hand over his brother's. "It's okay," he said softly. "Quit thinking what you're thinking."

"Easier said than done," Dean sighed, pretending not to take notice of Sam's hand gently over his, pretending that he didn't appreciate the comfort…just pretending.

"I get it. You were worried about me…"

"More than that. I wasn't sure what…I mean, first those crazy people get you…and for three days all I can think about is what they've done to you and how I couldn't do a damn thing about it. And then, I get you back, and some moron of a phantom takes you again, and…it's like, I'm useless."

"Useless? I saw the condition you left those guys in. If that's you being useless…"

"Whatever. I don't want to talk about it anymore…"

Sam thought maybe a slight change of subject would help for the moment.

"So, you want to talk about your recent communication with the Dead?" Sam asked. The question was serious but his tone was masked with a glorified teasing quality he'd picked up from his brother. Dean shot him a half smile, and then it faded as he recalled the events from a few nights ago, the last night he remembered and the night he'll never forget.

"_Thank you, Dean. Thank you for saving Kathy. Thank you for letting me go **home**,"_

"Riley…The cave, those things—what happened?" A moment of clarity struck him as he realized he still had no idea how the events unfolded that night. Sam's expression sobered.

"When I was pulled back into the cave, I saw him…Riley? He told me not to worry, that he was going to help us—help everyone. Not having much of an option, I believed him. He told me to shut my eyes, and something happened, Dean. I'm not sure what…but there was this light that seemed to come from him, this blinding light, and the darkness, those phantoms, they were gone. And suddenly, he's telling me to run, and the light cleared the darkness and I saw further down the cave- it split. He told me where to go and I followed, and the next thing I know I'm outside the cave right before it crashes down on me. It happened so fast…"

Dean seemed to take everything his brother told him into consideration, contemplating the scenario for what it was and what it meant. Riley did something to those things; saved Sam, and him…

"So he must have, kind of, sacrificed himself…his spirit? Used his energy to, I don't know, kill the things?"

"Maybe. I had an interesting conversation with Officer Hudak. Apparently Riley had a fiancé who was taken before Riley disappeared," Sam explained, and Dean knew where he was heading but let him continue, enthralled by the reality of the tale. "I bet the phantom took her, and he set out after her. Maybe dealing with these things was his unfinished business, why he was stuck around…waiting to do something about it?"

"Waiting to go home," Dean chose the moment to fill in the missing piece. Sam expressed abrupt interest in Dean's random knowingness of the situation, and waited for him to continue.

"I had an interesting conversation with Officer Hudak's _brother_. Something tells me that helping us was his ticket out of this world. I think he felt the need to do something, to help someone…like he failed before but this time…well, he didn't. He chose to help us because we helped his sister, Kathleen. So, he saved us…He saved you, where I failed."

Dean bit his lip to keep from visibly pouting, a strong headache emerging quickly above his eyes. Sam squeezed Dean's hand.

"You didn't fail, Dean. If anyone failed, it was me. I'm the one stupid enough to get caught off guard by that family of freaks in the first place. If I was more careful—"

"Oh, no," Dean moved his free hand to point accusingly at Sam. "You don't get to brood for _this_ one. It's my turn, okay?"

Sam removed his hand and stood up hastily, placing his arms crossed behind his neck as he began to pace at the bedside.

"Dean, I realize you have a firm belief that _your_ humor is appropriate for _every_ situation, but…for once, can we make believe that maybe life isn't some huge joke? Don't you ever wonder about what could have happened if things went wrong?"

Their father's words rang back harshly again to Dean.

"_Dean, do you know what could have happened today?"_

Of course Dean thought about the _could have's_ and the _what if's_, but he just didn't like to.

"Well, duh, Sam…all the time. And the worst part of it is things only go right because we get lucky. Real lucky. And lately, I seem to be pressing our luck…" Dean drifted off, and Sam sat back down on the bed next to him.

"What do you mean?"

"I'm a screw-up, Sam! You can't count on me. I can't count on myself. I keep relying on our luck to get us by and I shouldn't, but I don't have anything else to rely on."

"You have me," Sam countered, his voice attached strongly to the words. "You'll always have me to rely on."

Dean didn't know what to say, but he knew he could believe the words if not respond to them. And Sam continued anyway without a reply.

"You might think I can't count on you, but every time I need your help, you're there. Every time I ask, you answer. Every time I pull away, you chase. You're my big brother, Dean. You always find a way. Who are you if not someone I'll always be able to count on?"

Dean seemed to ponder the question.

"Just another extremely good lucking guy, too pretty for modeling?" Dean took special care in throwing in his reliable humor that always deterred him from a chick-flick moment, even if the moment was called for. Sam let up on his heartfelt speech and settled for a smile.

"Besides, Dean, we're Winchester's. We make our own luck," Sam added before standing up again. His own thoughts lurked in the silence between his brother and him, but he pushed them away. He remembered what the phantom had showed him.

_Dean faltered back, his hands suddenly clutching his stomach, and Sam felt the scream edging its way out his throat before he even saw the blood dripping over his brother's hands._

Could Dean be right? Had they just been getting lucky all this time? Could the evil they've been chasing catch up to them so easily, and could Dean be the one to suffer for their run of luck?

Sam didn't want to think of it now.

"Hey, Sam?" Dean pulled Sam away from his dire thoughts. "I'm, uh, sorry I didn't get to you sooner…"

"I would have waited," Sam confirmed, doing his best impression of his older brother's trademark smirk. Dean appreciated the comment.

"What were you going to say before?" Dean suddenly remembered, right before Sam was snatched away for the second time—the last time—Sam was about to tell him something.

"What?"

"Before that phantom freak grabbed you…you were going to tell me something. What was it?"

Sam seemed to be discontented by the thought, unable to recall those details. He shrugged his shoulders.

"I, um…I don't remember."

"Sure, whatever," Dean sighed in defeat. "How are you holding up, anyway?"

"Better. It hurts to walk, and my back is really sore and I have my fair share of cuts and bruises but…I'm better," Sam answered, and Dean heard his five year-old brother. _"As long as we're together,"_

Dean smiled fully, managing to sit up a little straighter and rest his back against the headboard of the bed.

"Good, because I think someone needs to give me a sponge bath or something. You know, haven't showered in two days…Any takers, Sammy?" Dean teased, and Sam scrunched his face with lightened disapproval.

"Don't press your luck," he exclaimed, reaching out his hand to Dean. "I will help you up though, and I'll walk you to the shower."

"I was kidding. I don't need anything from you," Dean told him, not so much lying as holding in the words that would sound foreign from his mouth. _I already have everything I need when you're here. _

Sam grinned. "All right. Hurry and shower," Sam helped pull Dean out of bed, who grimaced in the shocking pain of movement. The pain dulled to a low throb and he perked his head up. "When you're done, I know what we can do to take some time off."

Catching Dean's attention, he tilted his head. "Oh? What's that?"

"I was thinking we could play a friendly game of Hide and Seek," Sam kept his voice serious but his eyes shone playfully.

"Real cute, Sammy. That's a good one," Dean chided, stumbling a bit on his way to the bathroom. Sam was ready to catch him, to hold him and help him stand if need be, but he kept a close distance between as to not coddle his older brother.

"I thought so," Sam said, handing Dean a towel. "So, are you sure you don't need anything else?"

Dean stared carefully around the room. Sam was there with him, not like the previous nights he worriedly sat awake wondering where he was. _No, Sammy, I don't need anything else._

"I'm good," Dean said. Sam nodded with a ghost of a smile, turning to take a seat on one of the beds and opening up his laptop. As Dean placed his hand on the door, Sam turned up to him.

"Oh, I remember what I was going to say," Sam spoke quietly.

"What's that?"

"Even if you disagree, I do think you're the best brother. I know I'm a pain to look after but…" Dean observed a grin widening on his face as Sam found the words. "Thanks for being here for me…"

"Well, I do agree….you _are_ a pain to look after," Dean laughed to himself, in spite of himself. Sam shook his head, grinning.

"Just…go shower. You're starting to really smell."

Dean nodded approvingly, and Sam turned his attention back to the laptop. Dean watched, and before closing the door he was overtaken by his memory once again.

"_I wanta go wherever you do. So we can be in the same prox-minity," he says. I have to laugh._

"_Proximity," I correct him, but he doesn't seem to care and shrugs his shoulders._

"_As long as we're together," Sammy squeezes me tighter. _

"_I'll never let anything keep us apart, Sammy." _

Dean slowly shut the door, keeping an eye on Sam before he disappeared on the other side. He then whispered to himself a renewal of a promise, a vow that would never die so long as he lived.

"I'll never let anything keep us apart, Sammy. _Never_."

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

-:-

**The End**

**

* * *

**

_Although I had fun writing this and I'm sad it has ended, I'm also relieved. So many other story ideas have been begging to be written, but I'm trying to avoid multiple projects at once. So, one down…too many more to go._

_Thank you, thank you, THANK YOU to all the readers and reviewers. I hope the ending is satisfactory. You inspire me daily to write more and write better. All your feedback keeps me going. Thank you…_

_Silver Kitten_


End file.
